


Better Late Than Never

by galerian_ash



Category: Blitz (2011)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Post-Canon, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-22 20:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9623723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galerian_ash/pseuds/galerian_ash
Summary: The problem with hostages was that they became useless past a certain point.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linndechir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/gifts).



The problem with hostages was that they became useless past a certain point.

Nash knew that, and he was certain Brant did as well. Still, despite that, he'd apparently made a point of antagonizing the robbers. The shopkeeper had expressed gratitude and relief over that when Nash interviewed him. It made sense, of course, for Brant to do something like that. Stupid and reckless, but also displaying that backhanded kindness of his. Nash had seen the latter plenty of times, had even been on the receiving end a few times — but he couldn't afford to dwell on that.

No, he needed to stay sharp. He had followed an unpromising lead in sheer desperation; the rest of the police force were just puttering about, wasting precious time. So off he went, to Charlie's Garage, because of the witness who'd told him that she had recognized the getaway vehicle. Supposedly it looked awfully familiar to one she'd seen in garage last week, when there to pick up her own car.

Unpromising turned to promising when he stepped out of his car and spotted a young man exiting from the building. He froze mid-step and stared at Nash for a few seconds, then made a sharp turn and began to run away. Normally that would've been Nash's cue to yell and start chasing, but he did neither. The guy had ran without saying a word, which meant that he still had the element of surprise on his side.

He drew his gun and entered the building. There had been three robbers, which left two, unless they'd been joined by more — an unlikely scenario, hopefully.

He found the second one bent over a table, counting a few measly wads of cash. "Look at this shit, Harry. I can't believe this is all we got," he muttered.

Letting him think he was Harry for a while longer, Nash quickly moved forward. "Quiet," he whispered, as he pressed the muzzle of the gun against the man's back.

Nash left him cuffed to the table — far from ideal, but there was no time to waste. He pointed warningly at the gun and hoped that the robber wouldn't try to shout out a warning. His bulging eyes, glued to the gun, seemed to hint at a healthy amount of fear. Good.

He moved deeper into the building. His attention was quickly caught by the amount of noise coming from one of the rooms. It sounded like two people fighting. It was a one-sided fight, judging by the unmistakable sound of a body being kicked. He remained cautious and slowly slid the door open instead of following his gut by kicking it down.

Brant was on the floor, hands bound behind his back. His legs were bound too, and somewhere during the trashing he was currently taking he'd lost his left shoe.

The robber lost his right hand, which seemed a fair enough trade. He'd been raising a thick bottle, clearly intent on bringing it down on Brant's head, and Nash didn't hesitate one second. The shot he fired hit its target; going straight through the bastard's palm. He fell screaming to his knees, and Nash rushed forward and smashed his face against the wall. He went out like a light, leaving Nash free to focus on Brant.

His nose was bleeding but not enough to indicate that it was broken. It looked like he was going to have a rather impressive black eye, but both of them were open and looking at Nash with lucidity.

Nash kneeled down and pulled Brant into a sitting position. "Bastard," he hissed, because he had to say something like that to keep his mouth from saying something revealing. "This was supposed to be our day off."

Brant kept silent as Nash cut off the ropes, but as he began to rub his raw wrists a smirk spread across his lips. "What took you so long?"

It was the kind of smug, shit-eating look that you wanted to wipe away with any means necessary. Fists were out, since Brant had gotten enough of that treatment as it was — so, really, there was just no helping it.

The kiss was angry and rough, their teeth clacked together, and it tasted like a disconcerting mix of blood and sweat. The unconscious robber was lying just a few steps away, bleeding rather profusely, and who knew what the other two were up to. All in all, it was an awful setting and even worse timing. The fact that he was kissing _Brant_ , who no doubt would be using his newly-freed hands to push him away any second now, didn't exactly make things better.

But somehow that never happened. When he pulled back, Brant's smirk just grew wider and even more unbearably smug. "What took you so long?" he repeated.

Nash's reeling brain had just enough time to process the fact that, this time, Brant wasn't referring to the rescue, before he was pulled in for another kiss.


End file.
